Alphard's People
by Kennilworthy Thisp
Summary: A stranger arrives in Knockturn Alley. With no memory of his identity, he stands as the agent of a terrible power. With a strange connection to the Black family, he faces an impossible task; change the past to save the future. Can he alter the path of a once Noble House? Time Travel. A very different Wizarding World.


**Alphard's People**

_A Military/Spy/Time Travel Fic_

Disclaimer

Don't own Harry Potter. Obviously.

Synopsis

Alphard Black, self-exiled scion of the House of Black, has many contacts in other countries. When whispers reach him in the Far East of a dark wizard with the potential to become the next Dark Lord, especially so soon after Europe was cleansed of Grindlewald, he realises that steps will have to be taken. Enter a strange figure from the future, who remembers neither where he came from nor why he's in the past, and you'll be left with a very different Wizarding World.

**A/N** – Part of this chapter will bear a striking resembelence to another of my stories. That's because I'm folding _Come With Us Now on a Journey Through Time and Space_ into this new story. The opening paragraph owes it's existence entirely to Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes story, _The Golden Pince-Nez_.

Chapter one - Arrivals

It was a wild, tempestuous night in Hong Kong, towards the close of September. Alphard, scion of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, sat in silence in his study, regarding a letter. Outside the wind howled down Queensway, while the rain beat fiercely against the windows. It was strange there, in the depths of Victoria Harbour, with miles of man's handiwork abutting the harbour, to feel the iron grip of Nature, and to be conscious that to the huge elemental forces all of Hong Kong was no more than a molehill in a field. The road outside was deserted, with the streetlamps gleaming on the shining road and pavement. A cab splashed its way from the Hennessy Road end.

Alphard Black was a tall man possessing the hallmarks of his House, storm grey eyes and thick, straight black hair. Unlike the other branches of the Blacks, the family of Cygnus I had a good balance of the Black and Bulstrode lines, being well muscled with the broad shoulders typical of the Bulstrodes, and all the lithe grace and cold temper of the Blacks.

The elegance of the study, with its mahogany panelling, expansive bookshelves and enormous solid teak desk were a forgotten background as Alphard hunched over his desk, consumed by the letter in his hands. The pages of the letter were bright, and its handwriting clear despite the lateness of the hour, illuminated by a multitude of bright white candles.

_Alphard_, the letter read,

_I hope the letter finds you well, though I cannot say the same of myself. I will keep this letter short, to save on postage and for other reasons (of which you might remember well from our shared past)._

_There are whispers up and down Knockturn of movement amongst the Old Families. They speak of a Wizard who will right the Great Wrongs of our Society, who will return to us the Traditions stolen by the Ministry, who will return the pureblooded to their rightful places at the apex of our Society._

Here Alphard snorted. As if the "purity" of your blood matters, he thought, when weighed against the money or influence you can bring to bear in favour of your causes. The current fashion for pureblood bigotry was nothing more than a salve for the wounded pride of those impoverished by the upheaval caused by Grindelwald in the '30's and '40's.

_You won't need to be reminded of how familiar all this sounds_, the letter continued, _and how we saw much similar talk come from the Holy Roman Empire before the war._

_If we are to avoid History repeating itself, Britain will need all its strength in one place. Already some of those who strove so mightily against Grindelwald have vanished in suspicious circumstances. I fear that I might not be here to greet you if you do not make haste._

_Come home, Boots, I urge you._

_Yours,_

_Everard (Mittens)._

He lay the letter down upon his desk and leant back in his chair, lost in thought. He had known Everard Yaxley from their Hogwarts days together in Slytherin, to serving together in the Magical Commando Regiment in the conflict against Grindelwald. Both of them had witnessed first hand the propaganda issued by Grindelwald in his bid for power in the Holy Roman Empire, and if Everard feared the rise of another Dark Lord, then he would need to take steps before history repeated itself.

Alphard ordered another cup of coffee from his House Elf. It would be a long night, if he were to organise his affairs here in Hong Kong and catch the morning International Portkey to England.

{1}

Sheets of heavy rain fell with abrupt suddenness through the deserted alley, located deep within the Wizarding district known as Knockturn Alley, before being banished by a swift and resounding thunderclap. The wind and rain, arriving and departing with such swiftness, ruptured what had been a warm summer evening in August. The heat of the day was still baked into the poorly maintained cobble-stoned street and the half-timbered walls of the buildings that made up the walls of the alley itself.

The term Knockturn Alley was something of a misnomer, in the sense that it was not as small a place as you would associate in your mind with the term "alley". In reality it was the slum of Wizarding Britain, and although the areas near to the entrance of Diagon Alley were home to the shops catering to a Darker sort of customer, most of the rest of the district was made up of whorehouses, taverns and dilapidated housing. If Diagon Alley was where the well-to-do and upstanding citizens of Wizarding Britain lived, worked and shopped, then Knockturn Alley was where you went when chance and fate had thrown up in your coin purse and you were left with little else.

Following the boom of the thunder, the figure of a man appeared, hunched forward clutching his abdomen before falling to his knees. Perhaps twenty-five, with black hair unkempt and filthy along with his face and hands – these being the only parts of his skin visible – and clad in a black cloth coat so enormous on his slender frame that it obscured both the rest of his clothes and any wounds he might be suffering from. Given the whiteness of his face and the way he was favouring his abdomen, it would be safe to assume that the stranger was suffering from wounds both numerous and serious.

After a moment of unsteadiness he fell forward, his face turned to one side.

{1}

Augustus Bloom was what many would describe as an excessively corpulent man, if they even bothered to phrase themselves so politely. He was tall, well over six feet, and walked with a pronounced limp in his left leg.

His occupation was that of a back-alley Healer, reduced to fixing up those too poor or suspicious to approach St. Mungo's, the premier hospital in Wizarding Britain, as well as those who for various reasons wanted to avoid the notice of the authorities. Given that entrance to St. Mungo's bearing certain kinds of injuries was guaranteed to arouse suspicion, and the healers were required by Ministry Law to report them to the Aurors, Augustus Bloom's services were often in high demand.

Bloom was passing near the mouth of the alley when the thunderclap split the air of that part of Knockturn Alley, on his way home from a long day tending to what he liked to call in the privacy of his own head the "desperate unwashed masses". An average day at his clinic included treating such maladies from toothache or bad joints and extending all the way to curse wounds and missing limbs. He accepted barter in payment of his services, because often when you were reduced to Knockturn Alley coin was hard to come by.

Upon hearing the thunderclap, rightly curious as to what might cause such an unseasonal disturbance, Bloom approached the alley with some caution. He peered around the building at the mouth of the alley – a boarded up house that had seen far better days, if not centuries – just in time to see the wounded stranger fall face-first into the sodden refuse that littered the area. He approached the stranger, thinking that he might have valuables of some kind on his person, and as he turned him over to check his pockets he noticed that the stranger had one eye cracked open and a strange, almost ominous looking wand pointed at his admittedly ample stomach.

As he heard the stranger's whispered incantation, Augustus Bloom had just enough time to think, _Oh shit_, before a soft pink fog drowned his consciousness.

'Imperio!'

{1}

After directing Bloom to cast a Disillusionment Charm on the both of them, and to cast mobilicorpus on him, the stranger directed him to levitate him carefully back to his flat, unseen. The twenty-minute journey allowed the stranger some opportunity to assess his situation uninterrupted.

Several questions begged for attention, and at their cause was the suspicious absence of his sense of self. Everyday information, like where he currently was and the spells to complete different tasks were in their proper place, but answers to questions like "who am I?" drew a blank. He could only hope that his amnesia was caused by the large bump on his head and the unknown method of travel used to get to Knockturn Alley, and would return given time. Medical attention, then, was currently his most important goal.

Upon arriving invisibly at the home of Augustus Bloom, a flat in a tall townhouse slowly succumbing to years of neglect, mould and woodworm. The stranger directed Bloom to deposit him on his sofa and fetch him a glass of water.

'Tell me your name,' asked the stranger in a croaky voice, after taking a sip of water.

'Augustus Bloom, back-alley Healer of ill repute,' said Bloom in a bland tone. The curious thing about the Imperius Curse was that it didn't completely override the mind of the target. It was more that it made the target of the curse completely malleable to suggestion, except in the case of a person with a powerful will. In this case, the sardonic sense of humour belonging to Augustus Bloom shone through, regardless of the stranger holding him under the Imperius Curse.

The stranger was lying on the sofa, taking shallow breaths around the pain of his wounds. 'You're a Healer? Can you fix me up?'

Bloom complied, pulling his wand from the right sleeve of his robes and began to cast diagnostic spells. 'You have lost a lot of blood, but your outer robe is blocking most of my diagnostic spells. I will need to fetch you a Blood-Replenishing Potion.'

The stranger grimaced at the thought of the amount of movement necessary to remove the large and bulky coat that he wore. 'You'll need to help me – I'm not exactly capable of my full range of movement at the moment.' Bloom complied with the order, removing the stranger's coat with difficulty. Wizards were notoriously ignorant of Muggle clothing; especially pure-blooded wizards like Augustus Bloom appeared to be. 'Fetch your Blood-Replenishing Potion,' directed the stranger.

Once Bloom had returned and the stranger had taken the potion, Bloom was able to ascertain the extent of the stranger's injuries. As he performed the spells the first flickers of genuine emotion crossed his face. 'You will need to go to St. Mungo's. I cannot heal this,' he said, some small amount of horror breaking through the Imperius to tinge his voice.

The stranger sighed in frustration, having suspected he would have to go there all along. 'Stabilise my condition as much as you can for transport. I'm afraid you will have to float me to St. Mungo's.' As Bloom got to work fixing him up, the stranger took a moment to catalogue his assets. His wand, which now he took the time to look at it, looked slightly odd, although he couldn't quantify why that was. His coat, which was much too big for his frame and covered in what a distant fog-shrouded island of his memory supplied as Futhorc runes. Within one of the pockets was the unmistakable shape of a Wizard's trunk under the influence of a Shrinking Charm. As he considered his possessions he felt a strange thought bubble up from within his subconscious; _hide these, not safe_.

'We will exchange wands once you have finished what healing you can,' said the stranger, turning his attention once more to Augustus Bloom. 'You will take my wand, my coat and the shrunken trunk within its pocket and place them beneath the floorboards of this room.'

Once Bloom had hidden the stranger's meagre possessions, the stranger cast no spells over the hidden stash, knowing that in the magical world no protections were sometimes better than formidable wards. He then cast Disillusionment Charms over the both of them and ordered Bloom to transport him to a secluded spot near the street entrance of St. Mungo's, then returned his wand.

As the stranger's injuries were too serious for either side-along apparition or travel by floo to be an option, the stranger was left facing a long float through Muggle London courtesy of his new associate and a Mobilicorpus.

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was not what you would expect of a modern medical establishment in the Muggle world. Founded in the 18th century by a coalition of philanthropic members of the Wizengamot it was the first hospital of it's kind, and remained the only hospital in Wizarding Britain. The main hospital building was a towering redbrick edifice of the Muggle Georgian style four storeys tall. It sat surrounded by elaborate gardens, hidden within folded wizard-space in the London Borough of Islington – hidden by necessity as the pleasure gardens and agricultural land originally around it was swallowed by the inexorable urban expansion of Muggle London in the 19th century.

The gardens of St. Mungo's weren't immediately visible to the casual visitor to the hospital, and generally were reserved for the rehabilitation of long-term patients. While not seen by many, the mix of magical and mundane flora within was varied, and the garden was the site of many of the hospital's fund-raising events. Once a visitor had bypassed the drab Muggle-repelling exterior that served as the portal to the almost-pocket dimension that the hospital inhabited, they found themselves in a large hall, enlarged by magic, that held the waiting area and the elevators to the differing wards.

Upon arriving at an alley near St. Mungo's, the stranger directed Bloom to set him gently on the ground and hand him his wand. He put up a Notice-Me-Not as an added precaution, then cancelled the Disillusionment and removed the stabilisation spells, so as to avoid any questions he might receive for admitting himself to St. Mungo's after obviously receiving medical attention. Given that St. Mungo's was the only hospital in Wizarding Britain, admitting yourself to its hallowed halls having already received medical attention was tantamount to declaring a connection of some kind to the criminal element..

'Obliviate,' whispered the stranger. The deft subtlety with which he applied the Memory Charm was in direct contrast to the brute force approach he had taken with the Imperius Curse. In the case of the Imperius Curse, the stranger hadn't wanted much, if any, of Augustus Bloom's personality to be visible through the effects of the curse. He needed an automaton, someone to quickly and efficiently respond to orders with the minimum of fuss. With the Memory Charm a softer approach was required. Augustus Bloom would need to forget ever meeting the stranger, which necessitated implanting a memory of travelling home without incident and taking a nap to explain the time discrepancy. The stranger also implanted a response to receiving a code word with a Compulsion Charm. When Bloom received an owled note with the words, "Wedge Antilles invites you to his birthday party", he would be compelled to take the stranger's possessions to a dead letter drop in Muggle London. Once done, after returning the borrowed wand, the stranger sent Augustus Bloom on his way and entered the hospital.

{1}

Healer-in-Charge Richard Abbott, Head of one of the spell damage wards on the fourth floor, was a Healer typical to the venerable institution of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies, and cut the typical figure of a respectable pure-blooded wizard of good family. His manner of dress, what little you could see of it under the lime green uniform robes of a healer were of good quality. He prided himself on keeping true to the image of the stoic Englishman immortalised by the poets Henley and Kipling; always calm and unflappable about his business. However, the events of the day had served to puncture his aura of unflappable competency.

It had started normally enough; he had gone about his business for much of the day. It was only as his shift had ended and he was heading home for the day that events had taken a turn for the strange. A man had entered the hospital just as he was heading for the fireplaces situated in the entrance hall of the hospital. Abbott had initially dismissed him as beneath notice until the stranger had staggered forward, retching blood and clutching his stomach. Once he had him stabilised on a stretcher and carted up to the fourth floor, Abbott began a deep diagnostic programme on the stranger. Glowing words appeared in the air beside the hospital bed holding the stranger.

A litany of injuries, starting at ill set broken bones and steadily getting worse. When the list extended to a basilisk bite, then exposure to the Unforgivables to more spell damage, Abbott's face lost all colour and only the hurried conjuration of a bucket saved his shoes from being splashed with vomit. By all rights the man on the bed in front of him should be dead, if just by the basilisk venom

He stood in front of the bed for what felt like forever staring at the motionless grey figure in front of him, only the slight rise and fall of his chest betraying any signs of life. Eventually he conjured a chair and collapsed into it.

{1}

'Tell me your name, lad.'

The words reverberated through his head, tumbling head over heels, knocking loose all manner of thoughts and feelings. Some instinct learned long ago warned him that giving his real name was perhaps a bad idea. He coughed wretchedly around his real name before swallowing and answering, 'Edward Black'. He was mostly playing it by ear, but some unknown urge had come over him when asked his name. It had happened before, when he first arrived in Knockturn Alley – it was what had caused him to imperio Augustus Bloom and hide his effects in his home.

Healer Abbott started up in the conjured chair he had been sitting in all night. 'What?' he spluttered, 'Black? One of those Blacks?' A look of incomprehension stole over his face, causing his forehead to wrinkle. 'Really?'

The newly revealed Edward Black tiredly quirked a eyebrow before saying, 'If by that you mean the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black then yes, I suppose I am. Why do you seem so surprised?' Whatever this new sense or memory was, it was screaming in his head. From somewhere he dredged the name and details, and even though he remembered very little about himself, he knew his name wasn't actually Edward Black. As if summoned, it bubbled up from somewhere within the depths of his memory – his real name. He'd keep it quiet for now.

'No reason, other than I'm acquainted with Arcturus Black and most of your family – he's on the Trust Board, you see and I don't recall ever hearing about anyone in your family named Edward.'

Edward slumped even further into his pillows at this. 'I - well, can't elaborate further at the moment. It's a family matter.'

Abbott made a humming noise to himself before saying, 'Well, I suppose it can wait until you're well enough for visitors, at least. I'll contact Arcturus about you when it's time.' He gave a firm nod, 'You should rest, young man. You have a great deal of healing ahead of you.'

With that Healer Abbott left Edward's room, leaving him to his thoughts. _So_, he thought to himself in the sudden quiet, _my name is Harry Potter._

{1}

Harry Potter, known in this time and place as Edward Black, found himself in one of the smaller sub-wards of the Spell Damage ward on the fourth floor. The room, different from the one he had briefly awakened in before, was empty apart from him. The room itself was typical of the hospital, with the walls and ceiling covered in a brown porcelain tile, and the floors made of smooth flagstones. To the Board of Trustees the concept of changing a décor that was from the early 19th century was not a sensible expenditure, especially when magic and house-elves could keep the appointments in almost pristine condition.

The room was lit from only one window, but the crystals clustered on the ceiling provided a little more light than he considered normal. Compared to Muggle hospitals the mattresses on the beds were almost opulent, even if the sheets were a shade of green more commonly associated with the inside of a troll's dirty nostril. Harry was currently sitting propped against two of the squishiest, most over stuffed pillows he had ever encountered and staring with a certain amount of shock at the Daily Prophet in front of him. It lay on his lap, resting with seeming innocence against the faded dull green of his bed sheet. The date at the top of the paper read the 9th October 1965. Harry remembered enough, through the haze of his amnesia, to realise that he was in the past, no matter how fantastical that seemed to him.

From what the nurses had told him, Harry had been in the past for little over a week now. Throwing the newspaper onto his side table he returned to the only thing he had to fill the dull stretches of time between meals and falling asleep. He let himself slide back into the meditative state that was crucial to the practice of Occlumency, using it to catalogue and sort his recovered memories. This use of the defensive mind art was really the initial stage of defending one's mind. To be able to keep a skilled Legilimens from sensitive memories the Occlumens must be able to categorise his memories and build a mind palace where each memory is given an absolute reference point. Once achieved, the Occlumens can build a partition over certain memories, and in the case of attack by a Legilimens, offer up false or altered memories as a defence. For Harry, it was a vital exercise, as it meant he could form some kind of plan moving forwards, rather than reacting on instinct like he had upon his arrival.

Time travel was the only explanation that married what memories he had and the more physical things he had encountered, like the newspaper. Harry could clearly remember going to Hogwarts when he was eleven - the only problem was that he remembered it as being 1991, something impossible given the newspaper as evidence. He remembered more things now than he had upon arriving here. The memories of where he had come from were blurry at best. More clear were things relative to 1965 - things like an invented backstory, the character of people he hadn't met yet, which led him to believe that some preparation had been undertaken before he was sent here.

The method of travel would warrant careful action on his part, depending on the method of time-travel used, to avoid massively altering the world as he was aware of it – after all, time travel was only advantageous if the world he found himself in had some relation to the events he knew. He was pretty sure that the unknown method of travel – he remembered pain, a bright white light, and the soft voice of a woman – had moved him across dimensions rather than through time, so at least paradoxes weren't an issue, though key things were likely to be different.

_Ok Harry_, he thought, _play it cool_. He knew that to be revealed as a time traveller would likely result in being closeted deep within the Department of Ministries and squeezed of all his knowledge of the future like a particularly fat, sodden sponge. Unfortunately, given his second-hand knowledge of the personality and disposition of Arcturus Black, he knew that he would have to reveal at least some part of the truth to placate the man.

Helping him make his plans were the thoughts and urges that had occurred since his arrival in 1965. They were different to his memories of this new time, separate. If he wasn't such a skeptic he'd think he was prescient. It felt almost like he was being guided along a path by an unseen force.

Any further introspection on his part was interrupted by a knock on the door. It opened to reveal the bearded face of Richard Abbott. 'Good day Mr Black, how are you faring?'

_You're Edward Black now, Harry,_ he thought, _you've got to stop thinking of yourself as Harry Potter_. To continue thinking of himself as Harry Potter was most dangerous, as it made a slip-up on his part far more likely. He would have to become Edward Black. Luckily he had a set of memories related to his cover stored away and a rather heavy mental cue to use them. It was surprisingly easy for him to sublimate his identity behind a fake, which made him suspect that among the still-hidden portion of his memories was a professional familiarity with this sort of thing. He shook his head to banish further introspection before replying with a smile, 'I'm certainly feeling better than when we first met, Healer Abbott.'

Abbott came all the way into the room. 'You are looking better.' He removed his wand from its holster and cast an abbreviated diagnostic charm. 'Almost all the spell damage is cured, as well as the ill-set breaks to your left arm and legs.' He made a humming noise of disapproval, 'you ought to take better care of yourself, young man.'

Edward chuckled, 'A subject on which I agree wholeheartedly. Hopefully any new arrangements come with a distinct lessoning in the amount of danger involved.'

'That's not the same thing at all, and what's more you know it!' The Healer gave an amused frown, 'I do have a piece of good news for you; not only have I contacted Arcturus on your behalf but I deem you recovered enough to receive visitors. He's waiting in the reception area if you're feeling up to it.'

'By all means, send him up,' Edward replied, 'it would be good to have visitors.'

Abbott smiled in farewell to Edward before taking his leave.

{1}

'You at least resemble a Black, for an imposter.'

Edward looked towards the door, taking in the appearance of his newest guest. Lord Arcturus Black was tall, well over six feet, and possessed the dark hair and pale eyes that were the hallmark of his family. His cold, unblinking stare, and stiff, unyielding posture heralded his poor temper. Edward was very much aware of the absence of his wand from his hand.

'Hullo, Arcturus.' Even as he said it, he knew he'd made a mistake. Irreverence had ever been a problem of his, and while it could be forgiven more easily forty years from now, Lord Black's response proved that in 1965 this was not the case.

Arcturus' body language became even stiffer, if that was possible, as he drew himself up with all the affronted pride of a man standing at the pinnacle of power in his society. Arcturus Black was also Lord Black, patriarch of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. The head of the family was known within wider Wizarding society as "the Black", a paragon of traditional pureblood values and acknowledged as one of the leading figures of the traditionalist faction of the Wizengamot.

'You will remember your position and circumstance, boy,' he said, his voice as cold as ice, 'or you will not enjoy the reminder of the consequences of impersonating a member of my family.'

'If it pleases my lord Black, I will explain,' said Edward, stressing the title in apology. He took a deep breath and shifted on the bed, using the distraction to gain a moment to think. His mistake could be costly, as it had turned an Arcturus who was distrustful but willing to hear an explanation into an Arcturus that was affronted and hostile. Arcturus wasn't going to be put off by any dissembling on his part, so some portion of the truth would need to be revealed; that he was a time traveller. Hopefully it would shock Arcturus enough that he would accept his admittedly patchy explanation on his presence here. 'You would be well served, my lord, by casting privacy wards. What I have to tell you is sensitive in the extreme.

'It's quite simple, I am a member of your family,' he said, seeing that Arcturus had complied. The head of the Black family made a noise of disbelief. 'The crux of the problem is that I won't be born for some time. I was born on the thirty-first of July to your grandson Sirius Orion Black.' It was true, by omission; Harry Potter had become Edward Black upon the completion of a blood adoption ritual at Gringotts. By leaving out the date, hoping Arcturus wouldn't notice because of the greater shock of time travel, Edward's words would pass a magical oath or a bit of passive legilimency. The blood adoption built upon his blood connection to Sirius through his grandmother Dorea and bound the two of them together by their magic and their blood. It left Harry looking like a Black rather than a Potter. His green eyes had lightened, better filling the norm for members of his new family whilst his face gained a more aristocratic bent, his shoulders broadened, gained more muscle, and his hair lost its unruliness. It really did serve as a rebirth. He had cast off his birth identity, realising that here was a perfect opportunity at a quieter life, as well as a chance to honor the only father figure he'd ever had.

Arcturus stood transfixed, struck as if by a thunderbolt. Pale faced and shaking, he managed to conjure a chair to fall into in time before he collapsed from shock. 'You're a time traveller?'

Edward couldn't keep a snort of laughter from escaping. 'You see now, I hope, why I insisted on a privacy ward.' He said. 'I am willing to swear an Oath by Merlin that what I tell you is true.' Seeing Arcturus' nod, he reached across to grab his wand from his bedside table and intoned the oath. 'By Merlin's Bond I so invoke, by my life and magic that these words I speak are true.' There was a flash of golden light, emanating from the tip of Edward's wand that travelled down the length in a swirling golden cascade. It passed from the grip of his wand to his fingers and from there the length and breadth of his body. Swearing and oath to Merlin meant raising your wand and pledging your magic – and in this case your life – to Merlin. Swearing by Merlin, Morgana or one of the Founders was the norm, and the penalties for true dishonesty were draconian. Those figures had reached deification in the hearts and minds of wizards, and the mercurial nature of magic had granted them a powerful magical aspect beyond death. The gold light issued from the tip of his wand was the visual proof that his life and magic were not forfeit.

Arcturus started in his seat. To invoke a magical oath was the ultimate demonstration of honesty and faith, though it could be twisted to a dishonest purpose by the swearer carefully choosing his words. Really, all magical oaths or veritaserum proved was that what the person said was what they thought was true. Ignorance and the lack of Occlumency training in modern times were what really kept them being effective.

Arcturus saw at this point that he had two choices, accept Edward into his family or report him to the Ministry and see him disappear forever into the bowels of the Department of Ministries. One thing stayed his hand, and it was the unofficial motto of his family: family first, above all others. 'We will need some sort of story to explain your sudden appearance amongst the family,' he said.

'Tell me, Great-Grandfather, do you remember your cousin Marius?'

'My cousin Marius? Disowned due to being a squib, burnt from the family tapestry and exiled from England, that cousin Marius?' It was clear that Arcturus could hardly believe his ears. 'Surely you can't be suggesting that I allow the supposed son of a squib and a muggle to re-join the family. You and I know that you are the pure-blooded issue of my grandson Sirius but such a move could only be construed as weakness on my part by the rest of the family, and I'd likely be dead within the year.' It was well known that the Black family as a whole didn't live as long as other wizards. This wasn't down to inbreeding or some other congenital problem, rather that family politics were often resolved on the point of a wand. Edward had often heard Sirius state that "the Black flame burnt bright and hot, but not for long", and "comparing the Black family to a nest of vipers was both true and an insult to vipers everywhere".

'It's not quite as bad as all that,' replied Edward, 'Marius' story is as follows: upon being disowned by your uncle Cygnus, he was placed in a muggle orphanage on the outskirts of Munich in Bavaria – which for a family like ours was remarkably kindhearted of him. Marius attended school, before managing to convince a shopkeeper in the magical district of Munich to allow him to work in his shop moving merchandise and restocking shelves. It wasn't much of a job but it's a sign of how liberal they are in Magical Bavaria that a squib was employed at all. It was there that young Marius met a muggleborn Witch and fell in love, having one son named Edward in July of 1940. He was a wizard, but met his unfortunate end, along with his parents in the troubles with Grindlewald. We're the same age and as far as anyone knows he could be alive, given that no records actually exist of his death.'

The original Edward and his parents had disappeared into the bureaucratic black hole caused by the rise of Grindlewald and his swift erasure of the wizarding branch of the Holy Roman Empire, and likely a shallow mass grave as the dark wizard started his crusade of purification. Unlike Muggle Germany, Magical Germany hadn't followed its counterpart in its move towards unification in the 19th century – likely because following the signing of the Statute of Secrecy in 1692 the wizarding branch Holy Roman Empire had continued, and not faced destruction in the 19th century at the hands of Napoleon. It was this divisiveness, papered over as it was by the illusion of unity that the Empire gave, that ultimately allowed Grindlewald to rise to power. Grindelwald took advantage of the traditional rivalries between the different states to be elected to Emperor-Elect, gather his forces and move swiftly to crush the individual territories of the Empire.

The head of the Black family wasn't moved by this little speech. 'Edward, being the son of a squib and a mudblood is no real improvement. We'll have to come up with something else.'

'Ah, but there is one saving grace that always trumps birth: power.' Edward held his index finger aloft to emphasise his point, 'with no trace of arrogance I'm one of the most powerful wizards since Dumbledore, if not Merlin himself. I'm sure once I'm recovered enough I can provide enough of a demonstration to quiet the grumblings in the family.'

Arcturus' countenance turned calculating as he considered this, 'That might be what convinces the family, if I bring you back into the fold under some conditions. You won't be granted any of the greater inheritance upon my death and kept on a small stipend as a tutor to Cygnus and Orion's children. That should placate them. What are your academic strengths?'

'Well,' replied Edward, 'inheritance won't be a problem, as I brought a certain amount of gold and other supplies with me – I've found it never hurts to be prepared,' he said, referencing his trunk hidden in Augustus Bloom's house in Knockturn Alley. 'As to my academic strengths I excel in Duelling, Charms, Transfiguration and Ancient Runes.'

'Ah!' exclaimed Arcturus, 'that is fortuitous. Your 'aunt' Cassiopeia has been overseeing the children's tutoring up 'til now. She specialises in Potions, Arithmancy, and our family magic in particular, so between the two of you the children will likely be a credit to the family. When I return to the manor I'll start the process of bringing you back into the fold.' He stood and banished his conjured chair. 'I think it's best if I leave you at this point; you can begin planning lessons whilst you finish your convalescence,' he said as he turned to leave. 'Goodbye, Edward.'

'Tatty-Bye, Grandfather!' A slightly disgusted "Hmph" from Arcturus rewarded Edward. He really did have a problem with irreverence.

{1}

Arcturus didn't show up to see Edward out of St. Mungo's, instead sending his personal valet a few days before his discharge with a bag of galleons, a valise containing a few changes of clothes and instructions to take a room at the Leaky Cauldron under the name Basil White. Lord Black's personal servant had been an older wizard with a shock of white hair and a truly unremarkable face, and only stayed long enough to hand over the money and clothes before leaving with a curt nod. Edward had considered it strange that it had been a wizard and not a house elf, until he remembered that for the upper echelons of traditional Wizarding society employing a wizard for menial tasks was a sign of wealth and status.

Leaving St. Mungo's from the street entrance, Edward moved to stand to one side and leant against the wall to think. Taking his wand from its holster on his left wrist he concentrated and traced the runes Thorn, Eoh, Ing and Ior in glowing letters in the air. Thorn to give strength to the magic, Eoh to shield him from magical detection, Ing when coupled with the secondary meanings of Thorn and Ior would guarantee the magic only lasted a short time. This combination of runes would serve to give him privacy from magical forms of detection, once he gave them power, then vanish leaving little trace.

The runes hovered before him as he moved the tip of his wand until it rested against the pad of his thumb and cast a weak Severing Charm. He caught some of the blood with the tip of his finger whilst focusing his magic. The runes flashed with a golden light for a moment before fading from view.

The strange thoughts and urges that had been guiding him since his arrival were urging caution. Now that he was healed and free of the clutches of the Healers of St. Mungo's, Edward had the feeling that establishing some failsafes now whilst no-one of consequence knew who he was, was the best idea. He already had the dead letter drop location he'd given Augustus Bloom, but a safe house, complete with a proper escape-artist bag would be the best next step. This was on top of the steps he'd take in hand with Arcturus to establish Edward as a member of the Black family. That could wait though.

Edward scrubbed his wand through the air, dismissing his ward, and disapparated with a soft pop.

**A/N** There we go! First chapter done! Here you can see where I've taken _Come With Us Now on a Journey Through Time and Space_ and fleshed it out significantly. I spent some time plotting where I thought the story should go, and adding detail to what I think the Wizarding World is like. A warning, for those readers who care obsessively about the details of canon; this is marked as an AU for a reason.


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